Chapter 9: Hatred in This Heart
Zhou Yan was led out of that strange and eerie place.
Even with his eyes covered, there was a peculiar sensation upon leaving, like emerging from underwater to the surface, where he could suddenly breathe fresh air, and his entire body felt lighter.
After rushing him out of the Demon Market, the man’s hand moved away, and Zhou Yan saw the sky outside.
It was night, and the sky was dark, but unlike the oppressive blackness he saw when looking up in that manor, the night sky was filled with stars, and the bright moonlight shone down, illuminating everything in white.
Zhou Yan looked back at the man, seeing his right arm empty, the armguard fallen, and a new knife scar across his left eye, which was tightly shut and bleeding, yet his face remained resolute.
He had paid such a price to save him.
A strong sense of guilt welled up in Zhou Yan’s heart.
“Don’t speak, we are still within the Demon Market’s range.”
The man reminded Zhou Yan. Outside, there was a tall, black horse. The man carried Zhou Yan onto its back, hung his horizontal Dao sword on one side of the horse, patted the horse’s flank, and whispered, “Thank you for your hard work, old brother.”
“Go!”
The horse neighed and galloped away under the moonlight. Zhou Yan was too exhausted from the day’s events, and with the sudden relaxation and peace of mind, he unconsciously drifted off to sleep.
He dreamt he was back home, seeing his parents and friends, chatting and joking, then starting a game. While playing, he felt thirsty, his throat dry, so he opened the fridge, took out a bottle of cola, opened it, and took a big gulp.
The icy, bubbly sensation rushed into his dry throat.
That feeling of comfort and relief instantly spread throughout his body.
Zhou Yan guzzled down the soda. They say eighty percent of the price of iced cola is in the first sip, and sure enough, the cola became increasingly bland afterward, like water. But he was so thirsty that he still swallowed it down in big gulps.
It became more and more like water.
“Xiaoyan, come eat, your favorite twice-cooked pork.”
“Your dad’s cooking.”
His mom was calling him. He was about to answer but found his parents’ voices growing more distant. When he turned to look, his parents, the familiar small living room, and the warm yellow light all became a single spot of light, receding further and further away.
Zhou Yan, in his anxiety, suddenly choked and coughed violently.
“Cough, cough, cough!”
Zhou Yan woke up, choking. He struggled to open his eyes. He was sitting against a tree, seeing the man half-crouching in front of him, holding a water skin and feeding him water. The dark mountain-patterned armor plates shimmered with a faint, gentle ripple in the moonlight.
Then, the day’s experiences flooded into Zhou Yan’s mind.
The man slightly moved the water skin away and said, “You’re awake.”
Zhou Yan said, “Mm, where is this…?”
The man stood up, went back to sit beside him, and said, “We’ve run out of the Demon Market’s range, so it’s safe. Who are you, and why were you in such a dangerous place?”
Zhou Yan hid his true origin, only saying that he rolled down a mountain, forgot many things, was picked up and sold by someone named Wang Chun, then forced himself to gather his spirits and said, “I haven’t thanked you for saving my life. May I know your name, benefactor?”
The man said, “Shen Cangming.”
He paused, then said, “It wasn’t really saving you.”
Zhou Yan said, “What?”
Shen Cangming said, “Nothing.”
“Do you still remember where your home is?”
Zhou Yan said, “I don’t remember.”
“What about your parents?”
Zhou Yan thought of that dream. Although it was just a dream, his heart felt a pang of pain, a muffled sensation that was both distant and real. His expression unconsciously became blank and sorrowful as he said, “…I, I don’t know.”
“I might never see them again…”
Shen Cangming paused and said, “Is that so.”
He had made a deal with Qing Ming Fangzhu, losing an arm, having an eye taken out, and losing his memory of archery, but it hadn’t caused significant blood loss, only fatigue. He didn’t know how to comfort people, so after a long silence, he only said:
“It’s late today. Since you’ve escaped, get some sleep first.”
“I’ll help you find a place to stay tomorrow.”
Zhou Yan originally wanted to say he wasn’t tired yet and wanted to ask more about this world and era, but his body clearly had other ideas. After only a few sentences, he drowsily fell asleep again.
Shen Cangming sat under a nearby tree. The black horse grazed beside him.
There was a bonfire in front.
It was already September, and the night temperature was quite cold. He looked at the tired, sleeping Zhou Yan, seeing him instinctively curl up due to the cold. Shen Cangming silently took off the cloak from his armor and covered Zhou Yan with it.
He walked back, paused, then turned around again.
He bent down and used his remaining arm to cover Zhou Yan more snugly with the cloak.
Looking at the sleeping face of the young man, he suddenly mocked himself:
“Shen Cangming, oh Shen Cangming.”
“A Border Army soldier of the Great Tang, who thought he could save the Great Tang, but instead became a rebel. I originally planned to find a great demon, throw away this life, and kill a few monsters for the common people, considering it atonement. But…”
He survived that cruel battlefield but lost a more fundamental belief. Shen Cangming had already been resolved to die, but today, having saved this young man, his will to die was somewhat weakened.
He always felt as if it were an atonement.
Saving one common person seemed to lighten the sin on his back by a thread.
If he paid a price in this process, he would even feel as if a stone pressing on his heart had been eased, a self-destructive tendency towards atonement.
But he saw his own vile inner self clearly, like observing a fire.
Therefore, he despised it even more.
It was just deceiving himself by saving people, wanting to cling to life!
Shen Cangming looked at his hand, the hand that once shot arrows against Tibetan cavalry in Xingxiu River, the hand that held reins and weapons and returned to Chang’an. His cheek twitched with resentment, disgust, and pain.
He slammed it down beside him.
“Coward!”
He said.
… … … … … … … …
The second time Zhou Yan fell asleep, it was like a deep, heavy nap. But this time, he recovered quickly. When he slowly opened his eyes, the sky was still a bit dark.
The bonfire had somewhat died down, leaving only a dark red glow, which stood out against the dark blue, unlit sky.
He straightened up and sat, the blood-stained cloak falling off.
“This is…”
Zhou Yan blinked, seeing Shen Cangming sitting and resting nearby. The latter was extremely tired, tormented by immense mental pressure, and had also fallen asleep. Only the black warhorse remained alert.
Shen Cangming’s left hand gripped his horizontal Dao sword, his thumb resting on the hilt.
For some reason, Zhou Yan felt that if anyone harbored hostility towards Shen Cangming, this seemingly sleeping man’s horizontal Dao sword would instantly be drawn.
Rather than sleeping, he was like a tired, wounded tiger.
Zhou Yan recalled yesterday’s experiences; everything was real.
“Can I really not go back…?”
He leaned his head against the tree trunk, feeling a sense of melancholy and powerlessness. He felt completely drained, not wanting to do anything. This state didn’t last too long; Zhou Yan quickly pulled himself together.
Since he was already here, he couldn’t just wait to die.
He suddenly remembered that last night, when he finally killed Zhao the Butcher, Zhao the Butcher’s power and Divine Soul seemed to have been absorbed and imprinted on that jade book. Zhou Yan was very curious about this thing that had inexplicably appeared in his mind.
Perhaps, the possibility of returning home lay within this jade book, he thought.
His spirit focused on the jade book. This jade book no longer remained unresponsive as it had initially, but naturally unfolded. The pages turned quickly, then gradually slowed down, finally settling on a later page.
As the page settled, golden characters appeared on it.
They recorded information about the Hungry Ghost.
Above these characters was a figure painting, sketched like ink wash, with a lively and vivid expression. It was Zhao the Butcher, with his rough and fierce appearance. In each hand, he held a meat cleaver, and the ends of the two cleavers were connected by a chain.
His feet were bare, his left foot on the ground, his right foot lifted.
His gestures, whether dancing or performing a sacrifice, and the delicate abacus at his waist with a red string tied beneath it, diluted the fierce and murderous aura of the ink painting, making it peculiar.
“Zhao the Butcher…”
Zhou Yan curiously ‘looked’ at this scroll painting.
Suddenly, new characters appeared on the painting, and a mysterious sensation arose in Zhou Yan’s heart. The information transmitted made Zhou Yan’s eyes widen slightly.
“This is…”
“Divine Ability?!”